Viola Davis, (dir.) George C. Wolfe and Chadwick Boseman
First a synopsis then a few thoughts on this stunning piece. It's a George C. Wolfe adaption of the second in the August Wilson cycle of plays covering African American life in the 20th Century. This one is set in 1927 and focuses on a day in the life of a Blues band headed by "The Mother of The Blues", Ma Rainey. On this day the band has gathered for a recording session of a couple of Ma Rainey's signature tunes. The gathering is fraught with tension due to a talented and ambitious horn player, Levee, who not only wants to bring Ma Rainey's signature sound "up to date" but plans to branch out to form his own band. Ma, on the other hand, simply wants to record the music as she always has, get paid and return to her following in The South. Through that conflict we see the hopes and dreams of what is the prototypical African-American version of the American Dream disintegrate.
What bugs me are the complaints about Wolfe's version being too insular and needing more backstory for some of the minor characters. Well, that isn't Wilson's play. Nor, do I believe, would it open up the story to a necessarily larger dimension. In fact, showing more of the environs of Chicago might have weakened the drive of the narrative. After all, Levee is headed for an emotional cliff that Ma, knowingly or not, is pushing him to. In fact, all the forces in the play are driving Levee to the devastating end and the only witnesses he has are the audience. Part of Wilson's point about Levee, like many a black musician/man in the early 20th century (and even now, to be frank), is that people around him don't really see him - or worse, don't want to see him. And if they do take his music it's in a homogenized form for which he'll get little, if any, credit. I hadn't thought about it til now but the naming of Levee is also apropos in an American South context as (the ones in New Orleans, anyway) seem to always give way in a particularly bad storm. Levee never really had a chance. It's Wolfe and company's 94 minute version of The Blues. Wilson would probably be pleased.
The cast is uniformly good. The late Chadwick Boseman is excellent (wish I had seen Charles Dutton, the Broadway originator, in the role) even though it's nearly impossible to like him. But Viola Davis' Ma isn't easy to cuddle up to, either. Part of their dynamism is the fact that anyone getting too close could get badly burned. When they're performing they're incredibly magnetic but in real life negotiation they're nearly insufferable. It's a successful performing artist's predicament, particularly dynamos like these, who are either attempting to break through or remain on top; which is another great insight that the (play and) film conveys. And these two heavyweights deliver admirably.